Down Below
by Symbiotic Toxin
Summary: One-Shot: Down in the sewers of Gotham, Killer Croc lives his live as best as someone like him can: Alone, hungry, and with a lot of anger issues.


_Drip_

 _Drip_

 _Drip_

Brown, filthy water fell from the top of the sewers cavern-like tunnels. Each contact made with the waste-filled water below sent an echo through the silence. A faint sound of the polluted waters flow towards the treatment plant gave the dark, damp world below the surface a sort of comforting ambiance, at least for who or what ever deemed this world habitable. A mixture of smells lingered about, some from garbage that made its way down into the river of filth, others from waste of numerous origins. Combined into one scent, it was enough to knock anyone not prepared for it on their ass and gasping for the air above.

The tunnels were nearly-pitch black; barely any light permeated its labyrinthine world. What little light there was down below came from the small amount that made its way through the manhole covers on the streets. Like the water, the walls were just as disgusting. What wasn't damps with moisture and growing moss was cracking and housing numerous insects that skittered and scattered about.

 _Crunch_

 _Crunch_

 _Crunch_

A new sound, one that would be foreign to this world below the clean streets of the surface, echoed louder than the falling of moisture in the sewers. Down here, in the sludge-ridden land of bugs and waste, was only one man who could stand the darkness. One man who could stand the noxious smell that burned his nostrils. One man that freely wallowed in the water, that didn't give much thought to the bugs crawling about his person. One man that called his disgusting place 'home'.

'Man' was something he didn't get called often, or ever. His appearance, his lifestyle, his jobs, all these things took what right to being a 'man'. His body was a hulking mass of muscles covered in scale-like deformities. From his beastly maw fluttered grunts and slurps as he devoured what appeared to be raw meat off the bone. Pieces of bone floated about as he engulfed the carcass more and more with each bite, his multitude of pointed teeth ripping into it as if it were tissue paper.

He took special care to keep a strong hold of the meat with his monstrous hands, his claw-like nails piercing it to keep it from falling into the filthy water. Half the meat was gone at this point. He would be satisfied for a long while, depending on how much energy he expended afterwards. Should all go well, he would only have to wander his maze of tunnels for a new place to sleep; to hoard; to hide. With one last crunch he finished his meal and straightened himself out from his hunched, feral position.

The sewers, as wide and tall as they were, still could not allow the brute to stand to his full height. The water came up only an inch above his knees, soaking the ragged pair of blue slacks he adorned himself with. They were his only memento from his attempt at a surface life. Slowly be trudged through the water towards a new hovel. The slow walk gave the brute time to recollect.

He wasn't one for sentimentality, nor did he have many fond memories, but he found it good to try and remember things that angered him. Anger was his fuel, his fire, the thing that helped make what he did just that effective. As terrifying as he looked, there was nothing more terrifying that having someone like him roaring at you or seething silently. So many people killed by his hand or teeth, and he wasn't even angry at them. A wealth of reasons to be angry was all he had to his name, and all he had to do was pick and choose a reason to make his blood boil to make his job more effective.

Sometimes he didn't even need anger to spice up his job. Sometimes all he needed was hunger. Moments of pure, blinding hunger came to mind. Moments of would-be gangsters, street thugs, or people who weren't paying what they owe, all of them cowering as he lumbered over them with a crooked smile and a hunger in his eyes. Sometimes he simply bluffed, to get his point across, while other times he got a free meal out of it.

But those were the easy jobs, the ones where he didn't have to work too hard or not at all to get things done. Then came the hard jobs, the ones that involved taking on the heroes or playing delivery man. Picking things and delivery them was not his idea of a good job, as that usually entailed not drawing attention to himself. That was something he could not do, whether he liked it or not. But being paid to take on a hero? Those were the challenges he lived for.

Only one hero stayed on his mind, though. On that seemed to mock him every time he appeared. The brute stopped as he thought about him. He had travelled far down the catacombs of the sewers. His location was a mystery to him, but only for a moment.

He knew these sewers well, because the hero forced him down here so many times. His teeth clenched as he imagined his shadow appearing before him. Claws dug into his hands as he remembered ever blow he took from this one, costumed man. His nostrils flared as the image of his face came to mind. That masked face, trying to capture the essence and terror of a bat, but only temporarily.

He began to breathe heavily, his teeth clenched to the point where they might just shatter. He slammed his fist against the wall just thinking of the mockery he faced whenever he appeared. This ordinary man; this normal, average, every day man, who had the stones to pretend to be this feared creature of the night, to strike terror by his looks alone only to tear away his persona when it was convenient for him?

"Hurry up, Frank! We ain't got all day!" He looked forward, where the sudden voice was coming from.

"Relax, no one's gonna come down here lookin' for us. We gave the Bat the slip." That one word echoed through his mind the instant it hit his ears. He stood there, motionless, silent as the grave. He didn't notice the light of a flashlight coming from up ahead.

The sound of slushing water didn't alert him to the incoming visitors. All he thought of was the Bat. His blood began to boil, his pulse raced, his veins throbbed as his anger began to take hold. On instinct he lowered himself into the putrid water. Like magic his entire hulking frame was submerged and lost.

"Shh…you hear that?"

"Hear what? You're imaginin' things. C'mon, let's go."

"No man I think I heard something up ahead. Maybe we should go the other way."

"We can't that way, the hideout's downtown and that's in this direction. Now quit bein' a coward and hurry up." The man trudged along, leaving the panicking Frank to slowly tread behind, looking over his solder every few seconds. The overly-stuffed backpacks they carried slowed them down more than the water. Frank, growing every paranoid, stopped dead in his tracks, shining his flashlight above him and behind him.

"Why'd you stop? C'mon, we don't hurry the Bat will show up any second now a-,'There was no warning, only the sudden feeling of a mighty force pulling him under the water. Frank only caught the second after his partner was pulled under, turning only after hearing his shriek. He shined his light where he was standing. Red was now quickly meshing with the sickly green of the sewers waters. Frank could not utter a sound nor could he move.

Fear had taken hold as he looked upon the spot where his partner used to stand. Now only water and blood remained. Before Frank could make a move the water began to bubble a few feet from where he was. Slowly the brute revealed himself. Frank could only shine his light on the beasts' face as he emerged. His scleras were a sickly yellow, while his actual eyes were that of a reptilian sort. Blood dripped from his chin while also staining his teeth a dark red.

By now the beast was fully emerged, looking down on the helpless Frank as he trembled before this hidden monster.

"Holy shit, y-y-you're Killer Cro-',his mouth was forcefully covered before he could finish. With a firm grip and claws digging into the soft flesh of his face, he plucked Frank from the filthy water and hoisted him till the top of his head touched the sewers ceiling. They looked at each other eye-to-eye, neither blinking nor looking away.

"You being followed?" His voice was guttural and raspy. Frank nodded as best he could.

"By the cops?" Frank did nothing for a moment, then shook his head in reply.

"By the Bat?" The name alone was enough to get his blood boiling again. With a nod, Frank found now to be a good opportunity to try and communicate verbally as best he could.

"I promise, I won't tell him where you are. Just please let me go." His words, muffled as they were, fell on deaf ears. With a crooked smile, Croc began apply pressure to Franks' face. His muffled screams and flailing limbs did him no service.

Croc took his time, relishing the moment.

"I want him to know. I want him to come down here so I can tear the cowl off his face myself. I want to see him make the same look you have one right…,' a final squeeze and the screaming stopped 'that." He let the lifeless corpse fall, the resulting splash echoing throughout the tunnels. Croc looked down the path the crooks came from.

He knew it would only be a matter of time. He never let his quarry get away, another facet of him playing at being a beast. Croc looked down, the corpse of Frank slowly sinking beneath the sewers waters. A feeling of primal rage swelled up within him, released only by a roar that could shake the very earth with its volume and its anger. With that, the monster known as Killer Croc once more made his slow trudge throw the polluted waters of the sewers below, waiting for the champion of the surface to come to his home and knock down the door.

He would be waiting. A toothy grin spread across his disfigured face. This was just another job for him, but one he would take great pleasure in seeing through to the end.


End file.
